The sky, reflected
by Pinophyta
Summary: Rinzler is drawn into the lives of two independent programs, and they all get caught in something that could overwhelm them all. A Rinzler/End of Line Djs slash story.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's notes**: It all started when I read some pwp story featuring Rinzler and the djs. I really liked it, but felt it was not enough. So I thought, "hey, maybe I can do the same, but with romance!"_

_Writing a three-way romance seems crazy. Even more so when you consider how I've decided to write the characters. Which reminds me, some things you should know: First, my main goal is writing a romance between Rinzler and the Daft Punk guys. Second: I didn't give them (the Daft Punk guys) names. And last: neither Rinzler nor the Djs speak in this fanfic. Also, t__akes place some time before the events in Tron: Legacy, during CLU's rule._

_I welcome all advice and suggestions on how to improve and continue this thing._

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Many programs on the Grid wondered if CLU ever visited nightclubs for leisure. He was a common sight at the arena, he even took part on the games from time to time. But when he visited a place like the End Of Line club, everybody assumed he was there for business. And they were correct.

He showed up before opening time, actually, accompanied by his five most loyal men. Leading them was Rinzler himself, a figure now known and feared all over the grid. His silent figure was enough to keep the programs in check, even in CLU's absence.

Castor's employees, however, didn't look intimidated, or interested in putting up a fight. They met CLU and his men with cold glances, but soon after their boss and CLU climbed the stairs for a private audience, they returned to their own business. They seemed more interested in making the most of the free time before work.

Rinzler took point halfway through the stairs, his men guarding the lower steps, and the other two further down next to the windows. Castor's programs walked towards the bar, bantering and pouring themselves some drinks, quietly glancing at the Black Guards from time to time. A couple of them were tough looking, but Rinzler didn't feel they would pose a thread to him. A specially ruthless looking siren had separated from the rest and stayed close to the stairs. She stared at them with unyielding determination. Sirens had that air about them. A strong presence, and big unblinking eyes. That one looked extremely loyal, but to Rinzler, harmless.

Unsurprisingly, a couple of his men looked at the siren with mischievous smiles. Rinzler noticed, and immediately chastised them with a grunt. He would have punished them with more, had they been somewhere else. How could his men lose their minds over a program while on duty? How did they dare?

The siren smiled, amused, and nodded at Rinzler with what looked like respectful approval. He recognized her as the one that used to escort Castor around the club. He suspected the boss didn't keep her around merely for her looks. She looked fairly competent.

Behind him, CLU and Castor's conversation seemed to go rather smoothly, at least for CLU. Castor looked uncomfortable and tried to burrow his way out while keeping it cool. He was cunning, but CLU wasn't someone he could play around with easily, so the meeting would take time.

The club would open late that day. The lights were still, the chairs and tables clear, and the Dj booth empty. The workers didn't look upset about it. The End Of Line was a popular club, they would have plenty of clientele, no matter when they opened.

Rinzler kept an eye on them at all times, though their behavior was completely innocent. In a situation without threats, Rinzler felt something close to boredom, though he never lowered his alertness. He looked around, slowly, checking all corners of the club, and back again. The other programs mostly ignored them.

A different Siren took a couple of drinks in a tray, and took them to two programs that were sitting down in a table, separated from the group, near a corner. It wasn't her job, and Rinzler was actually surprised by the altruistic gesture. Those programs looked surprised, too, when the Siren offered them the drinks with a radiant smile. She nodded, she looked happy, and the programs nodded too, probably thanking her. Rinzler couldn't tell for sure, as the programs were both wearing helmets, but they seemed to get along well with the siren. Maybe not all programs in that pit were selfish and cunning. That gesture seemed to indicate an underlying feeling of friendship or, at least, camaraderie.

She returned to the bar and left those two programs alone. Rinzler's gaze went inadvertently towards the empty DJ booth on the wall, and back to the programs in the table. They were the DJs of the club, he remembered seeing their masked faces up there, deafening everyone in the place with their loud music. It was strange seeing them out there. Specially because non-combatant programs rarely wore helmets, and even many of those took them off while off duty.

One of them had a rectangular visor, while the other one's face was a more abstract and clear design. Other than that, they were of similar constitution, and wore almost identical clothes. Maybe the former was taller and skinnier than the later. They were an odd couple of programs, and Rinzler couldn't help but wonder how far did their duality extend.

Maybe their code was designed to work in tandem. That would be an exceptional feature for a couple of fighters, maybe the same mechanic applied to the field of simulated creativity as well. They "programmed" music, after all, and quite obviously were well regarded by the people. Castor's club wouldn't be so popular without them. However, he couldn't remember their names, or even recall ever hearing them.

Their behavior was remarkably different, too. They seemed to share a particular form of communication, something personal and strangely well balanced. They did speak, though most of their conversation was expressed through a friendly and relaxed body language. Gestures that pointed at a complex camaraderie, sign of some complex bond most certainly rooted in their coding.

But there was something, something brief that many wouldn't have noticed, but Rinzler saw. With his ever vigilant eyes focused on the couple, he perceived in less than a second how the one with the clear face plate grabbed the other one's hand. And, more importantly, how his partner returned the touch with gentle care.

It happened quick, but for eyes that could follow a stray disc over the battlefield, or predict the moves of a lightcycle, not a detail escaped. That was an intimate touch.

Rinzler never felt the need to subject himself to that kind of attention, unlike his men did when off duty. They indulged in physical contact with other programs, much with the same kind of underlying desire. But the execution was completely different from that.

It seemed almost natural, in great part because the touch had been soft and restrained. Nothing to do with the grabbing and clumsy fondling the lazy mooks did every other night. Also, those two programs looked nothing like the programs usually dedicated to that kind of... service. Unique looking in a way, but not designed to pleasure of others.

Rinzler kept his gaze on them for a while longer, pondering, trying to simplify a mystery he felt complicated, but suspected was quite simple. Just as if he recalled thinking something along the lines of that, of seeing a program and thinking "intimacy" and "closeness", instead of "threat" and "combat weaknesses".

It was a familiar thought he wasn't sure he had ever had, but the feeling was there. Programs with covered faces sharing in ways he would normally disapprove of, waking a feeling in him distant from the combat commands he was familiar with. He tried to compare, tried to imagine how that would be like. He wondered if those things felt as sublime as riding a lightcycle, or jumping across the arena with one agile movement.

The silvery programs were looking straight at him now, quietly whispering something. Rinzler didn't avert his gaze, and met theirs with a strange feeling in his guts. Like a wave on the shores of the Sea of Simulation. Like a lightning, striking at the end of a circuit. Unlike any other thing he had ever felt.

When CLU left the room he raised an eyebrow at Rinzler. Rinzler felt a hundred percent sure that CLU knew he had been looking at those programs, and not guarding the place. He readied himself for a scolding, but it never came, because CLU ignored whatever he had seen strange in Rinzler.

He walked downstairs quite happily, even winking an eye at the Siren at the bottom. He and Castor exchanged some last words filled with hypocrisy, CLU's also with veiled menaces Castor could only smile at.

Walking beside his master, they proceeded to the elevator, receiving less than friendly glances from the End Of Line's programs. All of them, except the silvery Djs, that looked exclusively at Rinzler with expressions impossible to guess. But the intensity of their gaze was clear. Rinzler felt it on him as they walked slowly towards the exit.

The last he saw of them was a brief glimpse, before the elevator doors closed. The silvery programs turned to look at each other, with their heads tilted forward in what felt like a knowing gesture, as if they were sharing scheming, coy smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

Rinzler awaited orders, but his leader was quiet. Once the long elevator ride was over, a platform lifted them towards CLU's throne ship. Only inside he started talking.

"He hasn't changed one bit" he said, while changing into something more comfortable. "Making the same demands, with the same irreverent attitude. I don't know why I don't just throw him off his damn tower..."

Jarvis hurriedly interfered and recommended against doing so, only annoying CLU in the process. He knew perfectly well why he couldn't derezz off Castor... yet.

"Shut up" he barked. "I know he is a valuable agent, but he's not nearly as useful as he feels himself to be" he said, pouring himself a drink from the concealed bar in his office. "I have a handful of agents, all of them eager to work for me. And none of them have a past as shady as his. Or his annoying attitude... Castor is trying to use me before I use him, and I won't let him get away with it."

Jarvis merely complied, as he always ended up doing. He humbly added: "Then what do you suggest we do, Sir?"

"I want two more patrol guarding the Downtown sectors. All of them." He pointed at one of the black guards next to Rinzler. "You, take care of that. Don't get involved, just watch and make your presence felt everywhere." The soldier left with his orders. CLU emptied his drink and walked towards Rinzler, and spoke to him more calmly: "I already have ears and eyes inside the End Of Line club, I think that flank is covered. But I need to keep an eye on him outside, see what he's up to when he leaves. I don't trust him." Jarvis nodded in agreement, CLU continued: "You will keep track of Castor's movements every time he leaves his tower. You know what to do. Quiet, discreet, and all that."

"Are you sure it's a good idea, Sir?" interrupted Jarvis, seemingly nervous. "While effective, Rinzler is also a known figure, and his absence could entice attacks against you. Not to mention that, if he were spotted, he would be easy to recognize..."

Rinzler clenched his fist and turned his head around very slowly, to look straight at Jarvis. That gaze from his enclosed helmet was enough to make him back off in fear. CLU watched, amused, and let out a laugh.

"Ha! He doesn't trust your skill, Rinler!" He said jokingly. "It's hard for me to send away my best defender, but you're my safest bet to keep track of Castor's movements. If there is one thing he has, and all my other informants don't, is resources. He has as many friends as he has enemies. If he's planning something behind me, I want to know. You will take care of this, and start right away." He put a hand on Rinzler's shoulder: "Report to me at the end of each cycle, or earlier if you discover something important."

With a gesture he was commanded to leave, but CLU was more respectful with him than with his other guards. They were still not big shows of affection, but then again, CLU was their master, not their buddy. He didn't know to what extend that silent respect mattered to Rinzler, but he played it safe anyways.

Rinzler, in fact, cared more about other things. In this case he looked forward to working alone for a chance. Leading an entire squad, his abilities were diminished. But working free, on a mission that required such finesse? It was one of the best jobs CLU could have entrusted him with.

There were other motives that created a feeling of expectancy on him, though he wasn't able to explain them rationally, and thus decided to push them away. He didn't like the club, or the sector it was in. He didn't like the ambient and loud music, and noisy crowds of disoriented and intoxicated programs. But he felt... Intrigued. Curiosity, while not a main feature of his programming, was still a useful asset.

So he immediately moved into the area, checked for safe overlooking posts and getaways, paths and access to vehicles. And then he waited.

In the following cycles, his task proved to be slow and demanding. He performed with the same strength as the first day. The main difficulty was that Castor didn't leave his tower too often, and thus Rinzler's effectiveness was limited. The suspicious program often left at the end of each cycle, each time surrounded by flocks of programs, a thing Castor seemed to enjoy immensely. He always left accompanied by a mid to heavy escort, riding very sophisticated lightcycles. He then visited other nightclubs, and met with their respective owners, but always in public where everybody could hear and see. He was more interested in deals and accords that concerned his club, like hiring new staff, and finding new entertainment opportunities. As long as Rinzler saw, Castor's dealings were clean business. There was nothing shady going on.

He did meet with some shady characters, but none CLU didn't approve of. Castor wasn't planning anything against him, as long as they could see. CLU seemed somewhat disappointed, bored, when Rinzler relayed the news at the end of each cycle and nothing new came up. ""Really? There is nothing compromising?" he said. "What a pity. I thought he would have tried his move by now. We've been watching him for a while now, right?" He set aside Rinzler's report, and addressed him directly. "Let's keep it for a bit. Maybe he's just waiting for his turn. I won't give him that chance. Keep your eyes on him."

Rinzler was glad with his boss' decision, for more than one reason. The most important was the chance to move. It was better to ride a lightcycle and move through the grid than stand on guard next to CLU all day, looking threatening.

He liked the speed. He left CLU's ship after each report and unfurled his bike even before touching the ground. He then accelerated and drove in a straight line right towards the heart of the City, enjoying the light pass by as blur at his sides. 

The Code gave shape to a phenomenon known as "rain" in the grid, in which conductive liquid permeated the atmosphere and slid down the shiny spires of the skyline. The energy fell in drops, making all surfaces shine and sparkle, reflecting all the light lines that gave shape to their world.

Rinzler took cover, not only from the rain, but also from being watched. The street where the access to the End Of Line club was located always had considerable movement. He had a great vantage point to control the access to Castor's tower. He knew well he would soon leave the place, and he would be there one more cycle to follow him.

Castor didn't always leave at the same times. Programs always came and went into his club. The main access was always busy, with long queues forming at the entrance, and more important programs with privileges on the other side, taking the elevators without hassle.

He appeared on the elevator, cheery as usual, followed by the usual crowd. Bodyguards, a couple of sirens, and a busy secretary hurriedly talking notes of what Castor was saying. He didn't seem to care about the poor program's inability to follow his non-stop chatter. He waved and saluted at many of the white wearing programs on the line, and they waved and cheered back. He was a popular character.

He and his circle of admirers were making their way towards the street when the elevator caught Rinzler's eye one more time. Four programs walked out, and unlike Castor's group, followed a quieter path behind without drawing much attention.

It was them. He had seen them from time to time, arriving in their lightcycles, disappearing into the tower. Not knowing where they went, strangely wishing he was meant to follow them around, and not their boss. But he had orders. Pursuing his curiosity would be reckless.

Still, there was no harm in watching them a little longer, as long as they were on the very same street as Castor, right?

They were being accompanied by two sirens, that covered them with their light umbrellas as they walked happily across the street. They smiled and laughed, and they had their arms crossed over theirs. Still, it didn't feel like an overly intimate gesture. It made them look elegant, but they didn't look like genuine couples. When they reached the corner of the street, they parted ways. The sirens said goodbye to the DJs with some overly dramatic kisses on the cheeks, and finally with a slight reverence. The sirens walked down the street in the mechanic way they did, their arms locked the same way as when they accompanied the DJs, and covered now under a single umbrella.

Rinzler forgot them soon. The DJs had stayed under the buildings cornice, protected from the rain, and now walked towards his position. They seemed to be chatting, and making some time to avoid the crowd a few meters from them. They had taken their lightcycles, but didn't activate them yet. Rinzler wondered if they would leave with Castor's crowd, and for a second he hoped they would.

Second after second, raindrop after raindrop, Rinzler's gaze stayed in the gestures of those two programs, as if he were watching them in slow motion. The liquid energy slide down his helmet, tracing perfectly straight lines he didn't even notice. The lights covering the underside of the cornice bathed them in a soft blue glow. He studied their movements and gestures with millimetric attention: A shrug, some pointing, shaking a fist in the air... A firm pat in the back. A hand reaching a shoulder, and staying there for just a few seconds longer than it should... It was like processing an encrypted form of communication. Something based in touch.

Everything else around him was unimportant at that moment, but eventually something caught back Rinzler's attention, and for a good reason. Right at the other side of the street, Castor was being confronted by a group of programs, led by a very angry looking leader. He was a very tall program, with a face that looked carved in stone, and the athletic body of a heavy guard. He wore black and blue, as did his entire group, and had on his clothing and skin the kind of tattoo-like markings CLU didn't allow anybody on his ranks to wear.

The angry argument could be heard all through the street. Even the two mp3 programs interrupted their conversation to look at the confrontation site. Castor just stood there with a confident smirk. He was, in fact, well surrounded by his own fighters. If a fight was going to break, those programs didn't stand a chance.

Rinzler climbed his way towards a better position, trying to determinate what had caused the dispute, but he had no time to understand what was really going on. The aggressors had activated their discs, and were getting ready for a fight. Castor's men did the same thing, but his smug smile didn't last too long. A recognizer appeared around the corner and fled directly towards them, positioning itself protectively above the aggressors.

The machine had obviously been reprogrammed, as it glowed bright blue instead of the customary orange. A brief look was enough to see it was completely filled with armed programs. Neutralizing such a force would require derezzing most of them.

The attackers quickly mixed in with Castor's crowd, pushing and punching their way. Soon enough, programs started being derezzed, energy fragments flying and sparkling in the rain. Castor was running away from the attackers and the recognizer, but the lightspot of the machine was inevitably focused on him. But the attackers didn't target him. They derezzed programs left and right, his bodyguards, his employees... But they didn't aim at him. They were there to catch him alive.

It was only when he spotted the two helmeted musicians amongst the crowd that Rinzler reacted. His discs were already in his hands, they had been for a while, but only when he saw them flee he snapped out and jumped into the street.

He was unstoppable. The Attackers immediately recognized his orange color, but that didn't deter them. Rinzler opened his way, throwing discs, then using them as the terrible blades they were to move through the crowd.

The programs from the End Of Line had been cornered, and hopelessly, tried to hold on, protecting Castor in the process. The Recognizer had landed nearby. Castor's last bodyguard was relentlessly split in two by the Leader of the Attackers.

One of Castor's sirens covered her face in horror. He, usually so full of himself, now had a cold look on his face. In a defiant gesture, he grabbed his own disc, and prepared to fight. The Attacker laughed in contempt. That gesture was useless, he knew it and Castor knew it too. He wasn't a fighter.

The Leader then approached Castor, as if he had been waiting for that moment all his existence.

Rinzler was getting ready to make a break for it when he noticed he had been beaten to it. Right in front of him, one of the music programs fought with his disc against three of the Attacker's thugs.

He was no fighting program, that was clear, but he had a strength and an energy that were making things difficult for them. Still, he looked like he was fighting a hopeless and desperate fight, and Rinzler soon understood why his effort was so frantic and suicidal.

His partner, the taller one with the horizontal visor, was in the surrounded crowd next to Castor. They were being beaten up and taken away right with him. They weren't derezzed, but they were stripped of their discs, and grabbed ruthlessly into the Recognizer. Snapping out, Rinzler ran towards them, derezzing Attackers on the way until they retreated into their transport. He threw his disk one last time and managed to derezz a mook, but the Recognizer took off anyways.

The remaining program, the one whose helmet had a smooth glass faceplate, ran right towards it. It was hopeless. He stopped then, shaking, the disc still in his hand. And when every other program in the street was running away in panic, or seeking cover, or cowering on the floor in fear, he walked back and forth, back and forth without stopping.

He looked obsessively at the spot where the Recognizer had disappeared, and clenched his fists. Without a face, without a voice, the anger and frustration he felt was reflected loud as if he were screaming.

He noticed Rinzler looking at him. He walked towards him. He looked into his dark glass helmet, knowingly, as if he were waiting for an explanation that wouldn't come. Then he turned back, glass that once were programs crunching under each step. He angrily punched the ground with the disc still in his hand, raising sparks in the process, giving voice and light to his frustration. Rinzler walked towards him, trying to evaluate him, but he acted before he got a chance to say or do anything. The mp3 program clicked his disk in place, and with a gesture his lightcycle unfurled in front of him. It was a beautiful unit, with glowing white circuits and made of shiny silver.

He had been acting in quick, decided movements, but at that point he stopped with doubt. He looked at Rinzler. He waved an arm at him, inviting him to follow.

Rinzler didn't answer, he just stood in place, discs still in his hands. Frustrated, the mp3 program angrily pointed at the horizon, where the Recognizer had disappeared. His gesture spoke for him, angrily saying "we need to go there".

Rinzler considered the possibility, as well as his real chances. No matter how much CLU loathed Castor, this was still irregular and illegal, and those responsible would be punished. Tracking the Recognizer wouldn't take long, and the ordeal would be over quickly. Such was CLU's armed power.

In fact, CLU arrived at the scene on that very moment, accompanied by an extensive cohort of warriors, and wearing his helmet and tunic. He stepped out of an impressive tank. Rinzler would have to report to him, but he didn't go right away.

He clicked his discs back, and walked quietly towards the lonely program. He was still considering whether to follow him or not. The program had lost his partner. He was still alive, but would he be for long?

CLU was laughing. Behind his helmet, his laugh sounded distorted and thunderous, like a monster cackling. He stepped over the shards of glass without noticing, looking around while his programs made their work, reinstating order.

"Wow. Did you guys see that?" he said, jokingly. Nobody laughed at his comment. "That was really bold, but not fully unexpected. That fool should have seen it coming anyway."

One of his commanders approached him: "There is no trace of RUT's programs, sir. They vanished. They must have reached the outlands and be hiding there."

"Do we have a trail?"

"It's very faint, sir." The commander handed him a datapad.

CLU dismissed him and reviewed the information, then looked at Rinzler, who was voicing a question with a distinctive head tilt. "The rebel you saw was RUT." he said. "You've heard of him. A lesser rebel. Him having armed forces caught us completely off guard, though. They're the usual dissidents and exiles, reunited now under his wing... Who is that?"

He pointed at the DJ, still in the middle of the street, ready to leave on his bike. But he had his masked face turned towards them, and was listening to their conversation.

"Castor's guy, I suppose" added CLU. He shrugged and turned around, towards his transport and his men. Rinzler followed him obediently, but couldn't help turning around to check on the abandoned program one last time.

A very faint shoulder shaking was enough to express the DJ's frustration, as he realized Rinzler wouldn't help him rescue his friend. Under the fighting program's gaze, he revved the engine and then turned around, accelerating, then leaving the street and everyone behind.

He had no chance on his own, Rinzler though. But Rinzler's own place was next to CLU.

He reunited his commanders, but pointed at Rinzler first: "You'll follow that recognizer." he said "Follow the trail, and stay close to their position. We'll be tracking you. I'll send in the strike force before half a cycle, and we'll take them down. Go!"

Rinzler nodded and took off in his lightcycle almost before CLU was done talking. He had another motivation. He wanted nothing more than prevent the derezzing of that foolish program, and also rescue his unfortunate partner.

He would have to move faster...

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_**Notes:** Reviews are welcome. They would definitely help, as writing this is being quite strange for me and would like to know how I'm doing. In any case, thanks for reading._


	3. Chapter 3

Descending into the outlands was tricky. The city limits were designed as a labyrinth, so that it would be impossible for deserters or rebel programs to escape. Tanks patrolled the areas constantly as well, but even the narrow streets and paths alone were dangerous for less skilled programs.

Of course, hijacking a recognizer made things easier for the rebels. They would cross the border in no time.

That's why Rinzler didn't think of it twice. He stopped at a recharging station and hopped into one of the rectangular block units. When it powered up, it took the shape of a recognizer, and lit bright in Rinzler's distinctive color. It was still one of CLU's orange colors, though. But Rinzler's own shade.

He took place behind the controls, firm and tense and feeling assured, and the machine took off gracefully. In a moment he left the buildings below, and reached the city limits. Regular lighcycles wouldn't work there anyway. Knowing that fact, Rinzler turned around for a moment. He flew over the city limits and examined the roads below.

It didn't take long for him to see a glowing white spot moving fast through the narrow passageways, looking for a way out of the maze. The DJ program stopped his bike when he noticed the machine was there for him. Unsure about what to do, he stood in place. Thankfully the recognizer didn't stop directly above him, as they usually did menacingly, but meters away. He also wasn't blinded by its light spot. The machine's control unit lowered slowly, and lights lit inside, allowing him to see the figure behind the controls. Rinzler abandoned his place in the cockpit and walked towards the edge of the platform. Holding himself to the frame to avoid falling, he held out his free hand towards the DJ program.

He understood, but didn't know what to do. A recognizer would definitely be more efficient than his bike, but he wasn't sure about what that fighter wanted.

Being under CLU's command, his mission probably meant fight the kidnappers and rescue Castor. But what if he didn't care about the fare of the other hostages?

Then why was he picking him up? The musician was confused. He had no chances of rescuing his partner on his own. Maybe if he went with Rinzler, he would be able to ensure his partner's survival. He couldn't reject Rinzler's help and leave him. They had never been separated. They had never planned such an eventuality. But deep down in his own code he knew that none of them would abandon each other to their own luck. Between them existed a bond comparable to the ties the Users shared sometimes. A tie so strong, so relevant, that they would fight to keep it even if it meant being derezzed.

Reluctant, he folded up his lightcycle and walked towards Rinzler. The warrior was handing him his hand so he could get in the vehicle, but when he took that hand, he felt he was also sealing a deal. He got in the ship and Rinzler held the handshake for a moment, not knowing why he felt the program's presence necessary, but not doubting his decision at all.

He took place behind the controls again, while the silvery program held himself to the security mechanisms of the cabin. The recognizer took off with a thunder, and soon they were sailing across the dark sky of the grid.

Rinzler spotted the blue glow of the rebel recognizer in the distance and sped up the machine. He also deactivated the outer circuits and lights of the recognizer, and they vanished from the sky, except for the very dim light of the controls, and the circuitry in their bodies. Rinzler focused on his piloting, but also kept an eye on his companion at all times.

He seemed thoughtful, but made no attempt to interact with Rinzler. He didn't even look at him, or acknowledge his presence. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, with his gaze pinned in the distance, standing like a soldier awaiting orders.

Eventually even he felt tired, and walked a few steps away from Rinzler. Though he was now behind him, obviously trying to get some privacy, Rinzler could still see him from the corner of his eye. He had no intent to control him, he just wanted to make sure he didn't fall off the platform or something like it. He didn't want to pry, but he couldn't help noticing what the other program was doing. After all, he was piloting basically in a straight line.

The mp3 program sat on the floor with his legs crossed, behind Rinzler, and took a moment looking at the dark horizon before he reached for his disk. He looked at it with his head down, almost with melancholy. His mask, his helmet, lacked even the most simple elements to express emotion. The closest thing was the rectangular white stripe of light, that represented his eyes, on the otherwise completely black surface. So when his gloved hand traced the disc with a delicate caress, the gesture spoke for him.

He held the disc in front of him and activated it. His hologram appeared accompanied by several lines of program. He held the disk up with a hand, while with the other he searched through the lines and the structure written within. Images started to appear in place of his hologram. Rinzler recognized the last few hours of his race and the attack, but then he started browsing the images faster. He stopped at one. He and his partner, in front of a complex control panel. It didn't take long for Rinzler to understand that they were creating music in that moment. The mp3 program in the memory looked up from the instruments to look at his friend. He nodded enthusiastically, making a triumphant gesture with his hand, and went back to the music that seemed to flood them with joy. He pushed him playfully, almost making him fall, but his friend pushed in return all while handling the instruments.

It was impossible to know what the silent, faceless program was thinking while looking at those memories, as he was sitting perfectly still. The hologram reflected on the dark glass that was his face. If anything, he seemed lost in thought.

He raised his hand again and the image vanished. It was replaced by another hologram, a recording from a small disc war arena. Two figures battled in the small, white glowing room, and Rinzler noticed it was them, practicing. The program's partner, the one that was now captured, managed to catch his partner's disk with one impressive move. Instead of throwing it back, he walked towards his shorter companion.

Holding both discs, he offered him the weapon back. He tried to retrieve it, but the other jokingly pulled it back every time he reached for it. He tilted his head to show his impatience, and aggressively tried to reach for it one more time. He managed to grab the disc, but the gesture had brought him so close to his partner that their bodies were now touching. And even then he didn't let the disc go. But none of them cared anymore, none of them cared because they had never been so close to each other. And, with his free hand, the faceless shorter program reached for his partner's waist...

He made the holographic memory vanish with a rushed gesture, and he continued browsing, pausing at times to recall other scenes of the past. Rinzler looked forward again, not really paying attention to his piloting, but thinking about the program couple, and what he had just seen. An intimate gesture, the first one they had shared. Who knows how that disc battle had really ended. Rinzler could imagine it, considering the relation between the programs, it was understandable that they would share that kind of interaction too. He had always considered it inappropriate for programs to do it, because that was something Users did. But maybe that thought, that feeling, wasn't his idea. Maybe it all derived from CLU'S ideals and statements, and maybe the Program Rinzler felt something else.

The mp3 program stopped at another memory, something that Rinzler recognized easily. It was the Portal, from the last time it had been open. They were looking at it from one of the towers in the city, in silence, sitting next to each other. He tilted his head until it was resting on his partner's shoulder, and the other one tilted his own head back, making a clicking noise in the process. They stayed like that without saying or doing anything, just looking at the bright light in the sky. The memory seemed to last forever. But eventually the DJ turned it off.

He rested the disc on his lap for a moment, with his head down and hunching forward. He looked upset. With great effort, he raised his head to look at the blue spot on the horizon, and inadvertently closed his fist tightly around the disc.

Maybe he wasn't a warrior, but he had the attitude of one. And, as Rinzler would later discover, he also had the right mindset.

Still holding his disc, he walked towards Rinzler and stood next to him on the controls. Rinzler turned his head for the first time, to look at him directly, and the other program raised his gaze back. As solemnly as he could, Rinzler nodded. He wanted to tell him they would get his partner back, because that's what Rinzler had in mind. He had forgotten about CLU, or Castor, or whatever feud they may have with the rebelling forces, and only wanted to reunite those two independent programs again. He fought for the programs, after all. All programs, not just CLU's.

The mp3 program understood. He nodded back, thankful, hopeful. He also raised a hand and put it on Rinzler's shoulder.

He didn't usually take those things well. He used to growl menacingly to those trying to treat him with familiarity. But there was no mechanical purring, no flinching, no rejection. He simply nodded again, awkwardly, wondering when the other program would withdraw his hand. He didn't know when he was supposed to do it. The mp3 program seemed to know that, but intentionally left the hand there longer than he initially expected to. But hey, after all, Rinzler was helping him with the most important thing he had ever had to do. He deserved to know how thankful he felt.

The rebels took them far away on their pursuit, so far that they reached the shores of the sea of simulation. Rinzler located where they had landed the recognizer, in a rocky crevice, a crude attempt to hide it from sight. The rebel base wouldn't be far, but they had already reached the coastline and couldn't see any signs of a program-written structure. Rinzler concluded they must have been hiding somewhere underground. Beyond the land, there was just the empty sea.

He tried to look for a hidden entrance of some kind. The dj program showed disconcert, and started pointing at something at the side of the cliff. He saw nothing there, but flew in that direction anyways. When he saw it, he stopped the recognizer. If they flew any closer they would be spotted by the programs below.

The ocean hit the cliffs with enormous waves. In those walls they found the shapes of a structure, embedded in the rock. The building was not exactly underground, after all. It was formed by prisms of different sizes that created a neatly arranged terrace system.

Rinzler landed near the cliff, the recognizer floating and hidden from the eyes guarding the cliff side below, still powered on and ready to be piloted on a moment's notice. The warrior then walked towards the edge of the ship and stopped to contemplate the built structure under them: Guards patrolled the terraces, outfitted in blue, and only one entrance could be seen from their position. The dj program, eager for battle, awaited next to Rinzler.

But he didn't get ready to fight, or even leave the ship. He looked at the other program, understanding how badly he wanted to fight, seeing on his nonexistent face a reaction similar to "why don't we go yet?" In response to that unspoken question, Rinzler pointed an arm at the distant lights of the City. Between them and the horizon, several orange spots advanced quickly towards them. CLU's jets would be there in a few minutes.

The dj program understood, and silently sighted, frustrated. As a sympathetic response, Rinzler unholstered his own discs, letting the other program know he too was ready to fight.

That gesture seemed to encourage the dj. He raised his arms and playfully punched the air. He was full of energy, really tenacious, and for a moment Rinzler feared for him. He wasn't, after all, a combat program, and if he wanted to keep him alive Rinzler would have to keep that in mind.

Movement on the terraces below caught their attention. A few programs were emerging from one of the narrow entrances: two outfitted in white, several others in blue.

One of them was RUT himself. The tall program was holding one of the white ones from his neck, and dragged him across the terrace. Next to Rinzler, the dj program seemed ready to jump towards them on a moments notice, but Rinzler gestured him to be quiet. Although he could take the guards and free both programs in the blink of an eye, his orders were to await reinforcements.

He hesitated when he noticed that the other white program was Castor. He was being kept on his knees, forced to watch how RUT dragged his program towards the edge of the cliff and threatened to throw him off it. He was shouting, and Castor seemed desperate, trying to bargain the program's life by any means.

Rinzler considered freeing the program then and there, as CLU wanted him alive. He had the means, all he had to do was jump...

But the rest of the programs, if they hadn't been derezzed yet, were still inside, and Rinzler's attack could have terrible consequences. His only chances were waiting for CLU, or sneaking inside and freeing the programs from there. He opted to wait. Maybe CLU's forces could distract the rebels while he sneaked in...

RUT let the program go and he crashed violently against the ocean, and was derezzed by the impact with the rocks. It sparked white for a moment and then disappeared. The rebel and Castor entered the building again.

It wasn't long until Rinzler picked up CLU's communications. He had received Rinzler's position and in exchange gave him a new set of orders. "Stand by, Rinzler. We'll try to make this the good way first. If negotiations fail, I want you inside. Secure the target. We'll cover your back."

He nodded, the dj next to him looked, questioning.

Rinzler worked faster and better on his own. Taking that program with him would hold him down. But he couldn't leave him out to wait, just like that, either.

He turned around and ran towards the edge of the cliff, ready to jump and leave the mp3 program behind. The dj looked at him, confused, not knowing if he was supposed to follow the warrior, or if he was in fact being left behind. With a simple gesture, Rinzler told him to follow.

He would manage somehow.


	4. Chapter 4

Rinzler ran swiftly, his body moving quick, and his feet stepping on the floor with muted sounds. He jumped off the side of the cliff, and landed gracefully on the uppermost terrace below with an almost silent thud. Behind him, however, his companion was having some difficulties to overcome the terrain. He had to climb down most of the wall, and only managed to jump the last few meters. Next to Rinzler his movements were clumsy and slow, but he managed to move in silence. And he was able to keep up the pace reasonably well.

They looked down at the next terrace, where guards patrolled and protected the entrance to the facility. They were too concerned about the horizon to notice two programs climbing down the completely vertical wall behind them. They jumped directly in front of the door, managing to sneak past right next to the blue outfitted guards.

The insides were dimly lit, but the complex was built with simple, sober shapes. All rooms and tunnels were carved with smooth walls and floors, repetitive and big. Sounds, even their barely audible steps, echoed inside. And luckily for them, the size of the facility worked in their favor: programs patrolled the tunnels, but they were not enough to cover it all efficiently. Rinzler and the DJ were able to sneak into the deepest chamber without being noticed.

Castor and his programs were being held there. The taller DJ, the one whose helmet had a rectangular visor, was still alive. Only four other programs remained, and except the siren, all of them looked frightened. The female program seemed calm and relaxed. Unlike the others, she didn't avoid their captor's looks. She stared at them with her own cold eyes, inexpressive, but defiant.

The rebels had noticed CLU's approaching forces. The facility broke into movement, all the guards now on high alert and ready for combat.

The rebel leader, RUT, walked next to Castor and stood in front of him menacingly. He seemed to be giving him a final warning. Perhaps Castor wasn't the most honest program, but he still swallowed nervously when the rebel leader eyed his programs menacingly, one by one. Maybe it was not affection, but those programs still mattered to him. They worked for him, after all, and RUT was looking at each one of them, as if deciding which one to terminate next.

Then RUT's eyes stopped on the Siren. He didn't even touch her, or look at her more intensely than he looked at the others. He stopped because the Siren was the only one staring back, and it surprised him. The exchange, the silent duel, didn't go unnoticed to Castor. He spoke, and though he tried to sound calm, he could not mask the worry in his voice: "Gem, darling. Please. Please, don't try anything, ok dear?"

The Siren averted her gaze from the rebel, to look at Castor. It was hard to understand her thoughts behind her inexpressive face, but eventually she lowered her eyelids and seemed to tone down her defiant attitude. RUT seemed complacent, laughing at the exchange, complimenting the Siren for giving up her ideas of making a break for it. Nobody noticed her raising her eyes one last time. She hadn't given up, but seemed content in letting the rebel leader think so.

RUT then left the chamber. CLU's airships had surrounded the facility, their sound audible even from there. Soon CLU's amplified voice echoed on the halls of the entire facility.

"Don't be a fool, RUT" he shouted from his hovering jet, overlooking the entrance to the facility. "Stop trying to act like something you're not."

RUT's voice yelled in response from inside the base: "You are the fool! You are trying to rescue this scumbag, after all he has done to try and bring you down!"

Rinzler saw the alluded program frown, as if for a moment he regretted everything he had ever done that could have made CLU angry. As if he wished RUT hadn't brought his past, murky businesses up.

"That piece of scum still holds valuable information" answered CLU, calmly. "Hand him over, you wouldn't know what to do with him anyway."

The DJ tapped Rinzler's shoulder to get his attention, and pointed at the prisoners. He noticed the siren undoing her cuffs. They knew she would spur into action when she was done, but she wouldn't stand a chance against all programs guarding the chamber. Rinzler decided to prepare and act before her.

He looked at the DJ, and pointing with a martial gesture he sent him the other way. He would take care of the guards closer to the main door, while Rinzler fought the ones guarding the prisoners. They hid as best as they could, though they wouldn't be able to hold that position for long. He tried to think of a way to draw the hostages' attention, warn them somehow, but it was hopeless. He would have to rely on finesse.

CLU's conversation with the rebel leader was going nowhere. Stubborn and doubtless, RUT had already made a choice and was ready to face the consequences. For CLU, any outcome was acceptable. His soldiers started to disembark.

The chamber doors closed shut, and the guards were confused for a second. As they took their weapons, Rinzler took advantage of the diversion and in two strong disc slashes the nearest rebel programs were terminated.

On the other side of the room, the shining white program was playing his part impeccably. He couldn't finish his opponents as quickly as Rinzler, but soon he got help from the now freed Siren.

Once the chamber floor was covered in broken glass code, Castor stood up and looked at Rinzler with a wide smile on his face.

"You! He sent you!" he said, amazed. The Siren, now armed with her disc, approached him and cut him free. They shared a knowing gaze, and proceeded to free the other programs.

The musicians were finally reunited, and in their exchange no word was shared, yet the relief and happiness was obvious in the embrace they shared. The other programs didn't pay that gesture much attention, and even Rinzler was forced to look away for more pressing concerns.

The doors to the chamber were unlocked and blue outfitted rebel programs bursted in. Rinzler had no chance to indicate the freed programs what to do, as he had to engage the rebels in fight right away. They, however, figured it out by themselves and ran towards the door in the opposite side of the chamber.

The guards surrounded Rinzler, but he was faster than any of them. He jumped and confused them, his discs flying in fast, blurry lines, kicking them and holding them and sometimes effectively derezzing them with violent hits.

The shorter DJ program, however, didn't leave right away. He stopped right on his tracks and looked at Rinzler fighting. His companion grabbed his arm and tried to make him run again, but he stood there, determined. He had to help Rinzler somehow. Even he couldn't hold all those guards forever. He tried to walk towards the fight, but his companion didn't let go of his arm. He was shaking his head, maybe trying to make him see reason. They wouldn't be able to hold the guards and help Rinzler. The group was too big. Reluctantly, he let his taller companion lead him out of the chamber.

The corridors became narrower with each step, until they reached the seemingly only backdoor of the compound. After climbing a rudimentary staircase, they were greeted by the sky over the outlands and the sounds of the battle around them. The exit was highly impractical. It was a narrow ledge with absolutely no support, that climbed upwards in impossibly vertical angles. In front of them, Castor and the other freed programs were already climbing, desperately holding to the walls to avoid falling off.

A small group of CLU's gliders had noticed them, and approached. They helped the captives, protecting them from gunfire and being ready to catch them if they slipped. They finally reached the top, where more ground troops waited to shield them from any danger, and escort them to safety. They pointed and marched towards a tank program, the transport that would take them back to the city, but the two DJs stayed behind.

Or at least one did. He couldn't stop thinking about the fight Rinzler was facing on his own. He looked back, at the sea and aircraft hovering around the perimeter, occasionally opening fire against the rebels hiding inside the structure. On the other hand, his companion looked at him and back to the transport, desperately waiting for him to make a decision. He wouldn't run away on his own, though. He didn't like his partners reluctant to leave, but he could imagine what he was going through. His rescuer, in danger. In a way, he too wanted to stay. He grabbed his partner's hand to let him know he would be there with him, no matter what.

They saw increased activity down in one of the terraces. Rinzler had managed to make his way out, but was still greatly outnumbered. CLU's men ran to his aid, but the terrain didn't work to their advantage. Knowing how vulnerable Rinzler would be to direct airship gunfire, CLU had ordered his small fleet to hold fire on that terrace.

Nodding, the rescuer DJ walked with determination to where he and Rinzler had left their recognizer.

He had never piloted one of the things, but he had seen others handle them hundreds of times. It didn't look too complicated. And he was good with mechanical programs anyway. His partner, alarmed, put his hands over his as he was trying to make sense of the controls. He shook his head in disagreement. But he had already made his decision, and knew it was the only thing he could do.

Raising one hand, he carefully traced his companion's visor and cheek. With the other hand, he vigorously pointed at the battlefield. His partner could not argue with that. They needed to help Rinzler.

He nodded and got ready for takeoff, with renewed energies. His circuits lit up as he jumped next to his partner, now the pilot, and held his arms around his waist. He remembered how it had felt to be apart, and considered that no matter what they would face together, it would never be as bad as that experience.

His shorter companion felt a hint of pride and comfort, in great part caused by his partner's arms tied around him. With the assurance and self confidence it provided, he powered up the machine.

The vehicle hummed and soon started to rise, slowly but correctly stabilized. The light contours of the machine flickered, and this time they lit up white instead of orange. They took off gracefully, and flew over the battle at the cliff.

The DJ programs scanned the battlefield in search for Rinzler among the chaos. With a long arm, the taller DJ pointed at the warrior, and his companion turned in that direction.

...

A storm broke. Its thunders and lighting joined the violent action on the ground. CLU had landed and was now quietly patrolling one of the terraces, as a spectator. Even whit his helmet on, his calm pose reflected his smug attitude. He was looking at the fight two terraces below, where Rinzler dueled with the rebel leader, now fighting all by himself.

The rebel fighters had dispersed, much to Rinzler's relief. They seemed to be putting together some kind of desperate retreat, disobeying their leader, of course. CLU had enjoyed watching how the number of warriors engaging Rinzler dwindled with each second, some of them being derezzed, but others simply running away. Only the leader, RUT, had stayed behind and, enraged, had turned to fight Rinzler.

CLU rose a hand to stop his men from joining the fight. He figured it would be more satisfactory to watch the rebel be executed by a single man.

He seemed to have no intention of surrendering, however. Slowly he drove himself and Rinzler towards the edge of the cliff, knowing Rinzler wouldn't push him because CLU wanted a more dramatic execution. There were still many loyal, rebel programs there to watch it. It would be useful as an example.

He consciously tried to use the scarce ground under his feet to his own advantage, trying to make Rinzler fall. It was the only chance he had, as he knew he wouldn't hold against him in ordinary disc combat for long. Rinzler still jumped around the program to confuse him, and attacked again and again with no rest. The height was vertiginous, the waves crashed violently against the rocks way below them. Their feet were almost at the edge of the floor, making each jump and each movement very risky.

The rebel leader was now exhausted, his movements were slower and his throws not nearly as strong as before. CLU fidgeted almost imperceptibly, impatient, eagerly awaiting Rinzler's finishing move. He knew it wouldn't take long now, and Rinzler himself got ready to finish that fight once and for all. He stopped, looked at the program menacingly, showing no signs of exhaustion at all. The rebel program, however, hunched and breathed laboriously, but his gaze was still defiant and held his disc tightly. He knew what was coming. Still, this didn't stop him from smirking, knowing CLU was watching.

Rinzler ran towards the program, gaining momentum, when things took an unexpected turn. From inside the facility emerged a vehicle, a very big and heavy land rover that broke through the wall. Rubble flew everywhere, and the car accelerated right towards the edge of the terrace, coming straight at Rinzler.

The vehicle hit him. It all happened too fast even for him to dodge, and then both vehicle and program plummeted towards the ocean.

That made CLU's smug demeanor vanish.

* * *

_**A.n.: **Now that's what I call a "cliff-hanger"!_

_Sorry for the pun. Hey, thank you all for reading and reviewing! I really like knowing what people think of what I'm writing. Mostly because I'm not truly convinced about how it's going or how it's working, and having an outside perspective really makes a difference. So if you have suggestions on **anything** at all, please let me know._


	5. Chapter 5

He suddenly understood that thing Users said: When you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. CLU sometimes took active part in the execution of his plans, but this time he would have preferred not to. He jumped from his level to the one where RUT was, and quickly walked towards him. The rebel leader awaited patiently for CLU, looking triumphant amongst the rubble.

On the way CLU took off his helmet. He looked terrifying now, unbelievably pissed off. He walked towards his rival relentlessly, ignoring everything around him, and he didn't seem like he was going to grab his disc any time soon. This fact effectively disturbed the rebel leader, getting less and less confident with each one of CLU's steps. What was he waiting for? Why didn't he take his weapon?

CLU reacted in different ways when he was angry. This was just one. He would stay silent until the last moment, when he voiced his frustration, his anger. In the battlefield it was pretty much the same. He ran the last few meters and took his disc while leaping forward, everything happening faster than lighting. The rebel program tried to defend himself, but his movements proved completely useless. With one blow CLU completely destroyed his arm. The second one effectively derezzed him.

The place was quieter now. No shouts from the rebels, no gunfire, and the ships now hovered quietly above the cliff. CLU just breathed for a second, and finally put his disc back into place. It was satisfying, at last, to get rid of that program, but he still resented how difficult his hunt had been. He had lost way too many programs already. But he knew he couldn't have lost Rinzler. Not him. He was made of a different paste, like Users said. The fall couldn't have killed him.

CLU walked towards the cliff, looking down at the crashing waves and the rocks, and saw the remains of a heavy land vehicle in there, sparking. He sighed, impatient. Rinzler had to be out there somewhere.

...

It wasn't the first time Rinzler had fallen from a high altitude. This time, however, he was briefly stunned by the vehicle's impact, so it took him a moment to react. He tried to hold onto something stable, maybe the wall of the cliff, but he couldn't tell the sky from the sea. He was grabbed by the waist in mid air, and his first instinct was to defend himself, but then he understood.

One of the silvery programs had jumped and grabbed him, effectively saving him from the fall. They were violently pulled when the rope stopped their fall, and he saw how dangerously close it had been. The land vehicle crashed under him, exploding against the rocks. He felt the heat of the combustion on his feet, and then they were slowly dragged upwards. He took a moment to look at his savior, and was surprised when he saw it wasn't his short, improvised companion. The taller DJ had jumped for him. Maybe his partner had told him to do it, out of gratitude. He didn't think the taller program felt as grateful as the other on his own accord. At least not enough to make that adventurous jump.

He saw the glowing rope was connected to a recognizer, one that glowed white instead of orange or blue, and understood. He grabbed tighter to his savior, enjoying the feeling of being rescued for the first time ever.

When they reached the platform of the ship, he looked down and saw CLU derezzing his opponent at the side of the cliff. He took a moment to collect himself, and saw his known DJ program piloting the recognizer. He nodded at him from there. His taller companion raised a hand and put it on Rinzler's shoulder, checking up on him. Rinzler understood his concern and nodded, letting him know he was alright. The taller program didn't stay with him for long, immediately returning by his partner's side, more concerned for him than for Rinzler.

He heard CLU's call on the radio, perhaps a bit more insecure and desperate than he wanted to show. He sent his response immediately, and CLU calmed down once he received his program's signal.

"Thank the Users...", he murmured. Had anyone else heard him say that, he would have derezzed them on the spot. "We'll meet on the ship on our way back. CLU out."

He then opened a channel for the rest of the fleet and organized the return, as well as a clean-up team. They would leave that part of the outlands as it was supposed to be, chaotic and unwritten. They would eliminate every chamber, every programmed structure, and leave the cliff as the solid wall it was meant to be. They would leave no trace of the rebel forces, and any sign of resistance to CLU by these programs would be forgotten.

…

"I'll tell you as many times as you want, CLU" said Castor, with a highly sarcastic servile tone. "I knew nothing about RUT's forces. I didn't know he was gathering so many programs. This was not something that backfired on me."

CLU seemed entertained by their exchange, as if Castor's tale was really amusing. Whether he believed him or not, it was hard to tell. He kept treating Castor with politeness, but his remarks were as sharp as always. And of course, he kept asking the same questions, over and over again, trying to catch Castor every single time. With time it became clear that there was nothing to catch, that Castor had nothing to hide, but CLU kept asking anyways.

"So" he said, calmly. "You didn't know?"

"Of course I didn't!" Castor laid back on his seat, and looked around him. They were at CLU's throne room, and he wasn't being held as a captive. He supposed CLU wanted to make him feel like a guest and not a prisoner. He even remarked on that: "Very comfortable, by the way. The whole place. I like the color scheme..."

"Alright Castor. Let's just say I believe you. Let's assume that you really didn't meet RUT after the last time..."

"And I did not! Come on, man! I'm sure one of your lackeys can tell you it's true. Which one of them did you keep on my trail?" He pointed at CLU's guards, standing at the other side of the room. Rinzler was among them, but if Castor knew it had been him, he didn't tell.

CLU sat directly in front of Castor, relaxed, complacent. "Well, then." he said, getting comfortable himself. "Let's put this thing behind us for a while, shall we? May I offer you a drink?"

"Please." Castor replied. Rinzler looked away for a second, unable to stand the cynicism of the exchange. CLU clearly found all of it amusing, and the other program must have too, as he played along voluntarily. He was glad they were all dismissed with a gesture. They were not needed there anyway. Things would go smoothly for CLU now.

It was a relief leaving the room, for more than one reason. Castor's other freed programs were sitting in the adjacent room waiting for their boss, recovering from the experience. Most of them seemed to be recovering quite well, among them the silvery programs. Castor's loyal Siren too, she seemed busy comforting the others. She gazed at Rinzler with her cryptic expression, but no matter how grateful she really felt, she wouldn't openly acknowledge it. None of Castor's programs, not even Castor himself, could really openly thank CLU's intervention. The siren went back to her own business.

Rinzler stood next to the door, as usual. The Djs were looking at him, and seemed to be discussing something quietly. In the end, the shorter one seemed to convince his partner, and they both approached Rinzler.

He was offered a hand. Not by the program that had helped him on his rescue plan, but by the one that had been rescued. His helmet had more recognizable features, sure, but that didn't make it any easier to read. Still, in the way he offered his hand, Rinzler could tell he really felt grateful to him. Maybe he, unlike his partner, just didn't understand to what extent his rescue had been successful thanks to Rinzler.

He took his hand, gently shaking it, and the program responded with a nod. He stepped back, and now his partner approached Rinzler. He didn't offer him a hand, though. Instead he raised his arms and hugged the warrior. He didn't expect such familiarity, and didn't know exactly how to react. The program patted him in the back, and awkwardly he did the same in response. Their helmets clacked. Thankfully the DJ didn't prolong the contact too much and stepped back. He patted him in the shoulder one last time. There were no words, but his gestures were strong and clear. He knew he couldn't have done this without Rinzler. He knew he couldn't have lived without his partner. He knew, and wanted to make his partner understand, that Rinzler had saved them both.

The Siren discretely witnessed the exchange, and rolled her eyes disapprovingly, but couldn't keep a faint smile from appearing on her face.

The shorter DJ twitched, as if he had just remembered something. He raised his hand and opened his palm, gesturing something like "wait a second". He took something from a pocket in his trousers, a small black stick, too small to be a baton or some other kind of weapon. He looked at his partner, expectant. The taller one seemed to sigh, slightly shaking his shoulders. But his partner tilted his head, like he was pleading, and in the end agreed. He zipped down his jacket and took something from a pocket inside, handing it to his partner. It was a piece of paper of some kind. He zipped up his jacked and turned around. The shorter DJ then used his friend's shoulder as a surface to write something on the paper, using what Rinzer now understood was a writing utensil.

When he was done, he handed the card to Rinzler. It was a triangular card, with The End Of Line club's logo and coordinates written on it. He turned it around and saw the program had scribbled another set of coordinates behind. He had also drawn a semicolon and a parenthesis on the side.

He looked up, not fully understanding. The program nodded and stepped back, letting his partner put a hand on his shoulder. The taller program nodded as well, and then both walked away.

He stood there, with that piece of paper on his hand, for what seemed like an eternity. Then it all clicked into place. The programs wanted him to contact them. He understood, then, and slowly took another look at the card. They wanted to see him again. They would not just forget him, and somehow he felt a strange feeling, he felt flattered and valued, and it felt good.

He placed the card in one of his pockets. The programs looked at him from the other side of the room, seeing his gesture, and nodded silently. They would arrive at the city in a few minutes, and hopefully the whole ordeal would be over. Another cycle, another rebel leader gone. And with CLU complacent, maybe friendlier relations with the independent programs could flourish. From the look of the toast CLU and Castor were sharing at that moment, things looked promising.

* * *

_**A.n.:**__ Rating will go up in a couple of chapters, because of sex (in case it wasn't clear before: I'm gonna write some sex. You all expected this, right? I hope I'm not making wrong assumptions here, tell me that this doesn't take you by surprise...) I estimate approximately 9 chapters total. I write a couple of chapters ahead. Since this was shorter, I will try and get the next one up soon._

_Thankyou for reading this far, and thankyou even more if you plan to stick around._


	6. Chapter 6

It was a warehouse, not far from Castor's same independent sector, just a few blocks away from the club's address. And on a much, much lower level. Rinzler even thought he had been given a wrong direction, because it took him straight into the service areas of the city, right along transport hubs and docking bays. In fact, there was a solar sailer assembly line right in front of the building. The view of the dock was impressive, as the giant cranes lifted and assembled the containers to form the vehicles, everything automatized of course.

He heard the sound of a panel sliding behind him. None of the surrounding buildings resembled living units, but Rinzler didn't discard the possibility of them being houses. Their clean facades could perfectly be the cover for stylish, minimalist homes. It actually seemed fitting for two enigmatic programs like the musicians that greeted him.

They walked towards Rinzler, and both acknowledged his presence with a nod. But they walked past him unceremoniously, as if they lacked time for formal greetings. They approached the edge of the pathway, where pedestrian space ended and the urban road began, and Rinzler guessed their intentions. They prepared their bikes, and Rinzler did the same as the shorter one turned around to look at him, just before revving and taking off.

Soon they joined the main lightcycle highway, a modest but impressive way for programs to move around the city in their individual vehicles. How much of this trajectory was pure functionality and how much of it was pleasure, Rinzler wasn't sure. They were definitely going somewhere, but the djs seemed to be enjoying the ride a lot. Their driving was free of all worry, under control but wild at the same time, with exaggerated turns and emphasized movements. They passed other vehicles with grace, and for a moment Rinzler wondered if they were showing off for him. He tried to move closer and overtake them, but they resisted almost playfully. They weren't racing, not yet, but they insisted on leading the way.

And Rinzler let them, partially because he didn't really know where they were going, but also because watching them drive was fascinating. He had felt the speed intimately many times before, but never thought it could be enjoyed to such a degree. Their white bikes were extraordinarily beautiful, and their movements so gracefully coordinated that he couldn't help but run his eyes through every single curve, and the shining lights reflected in the smooth metal of their heads and bikes felt like music.

He couldn't really give a name to it. It was a need, it was curiosity. It was a desire that he just couldn't push away and forget, and with their sinuous driving, the Djs were making that feeling unbearable. It started to feel like an irrational urge. He gripped his hands strongly around the handles of his bike. The circuitry on his helmet flared as he inhaled sharply and tried to keep his emotions in check.

Eventually they abandoned the highway, and Rinzler saw where the Djs were taking him. They were still on the lower levels, but this area was dedicated to recreational activities instead of industrial ones. Their destination was a big, white building. It was remarkably big for an entertainment center, but once inside Rinzler saw that its purpose was, in fact, recreational. There were establishments near the entrance, and even music playing over speakers. It looked like the street outside extended into the building, but soon they all entered an underground tunnel and emerged on a different, isolated area.

It was a lightcycle arena. Much smaller than the official one, but still impressive. There were stands for a small audience on one side, but it was clearly thought for practice and enjoyment of programs rather than for show.

The mp3 programs turned around to look at Rinzler. Now they were teasing, they were ready to race, and Rinzler felt himself not only ready, but surprisingly excited. He had raced many times on the arena, but this one felt different. It was, in fact, different, and that showed in Rinzler's unfamiliar nervousness. No life was at stake, as in all civilian games, so his excitement came from somewhere different he just couldn't pin down.

And he stopped his attempts at explaining it, his attempts at determining the source. He just went with them, and revved his bike as the mp3 programs activated their light trails and tried to corner him. The programs wanted to play, and Rinzler would play. He switched on his own trail, and through a ramp he avoided the programs' trap, leaving the mp3 programs on the level above, planning their next move.

It didn't take long for the two programs' true talent to shine. They were perfectly, flawlessly coordinated in each one of their movements, much in the same way they were when they created music. They turned in unison and then turned around, apart from each other, and then rejoined again in millimetric synchrony. Their movements were daring, sometimes unpredictable. Keeping an eye on both of them at the same time proved to be a challenge for Rinzler. But he had more experience racing. He had raced against opponents as fasts and agile as the mp3 programs- but none had been as mesmerizing. He had to admit that.

The taller DJ cut him off with a quick turn, and his companion was somehow able to predict where Rinzler would turn, because he managed to cut his escape as well. That left him no choice but to make a second acute turn, and grunt at the clever maneuver. They were smart. Maybe their creativity had something to do with how they adapted and planned so well. With such coordinated skills, Rinzler wondered what watching them race each other would be like, and figured it would be a tough match because their skills were impossibly equal.

But in the end, Rinzler was simply faster. He knew it, and the mp3 programs discovered it soon, when keeping Rinzler cornered between them started to get difficult. In fact, a position that should have been vulnerable for anyone else served Rinzler to begin his own maneuvers, and soon he was the one interrupting and controlling the other program's directions.

They had to admit it, Rinzler called the shots now. With a few, faster than lighting turns that confused the Djs, he managed to separate them. He forced them to go in opposing ways, and that made things much easier for him. At least he expected it to be so, but being separated didn't diminish the Dj's skill in any way. Or their resolve. Friendly as it was, the programs were taking the match quite seriously. But Rinzler appreciated that. He didn't like it when programs surrendered to him. Victory felt good only when it was won, and the mp3 programs seemed to share that view.

He managed to corner the shorter program on one side of the arena. He was fast and agile, and the harassing wasn't as easy as it should have been for Rinzler. So, in the end, it was luck that made it possible for Rinzler to take a turn in front of him, cutting off his path. The DJ drove through Rinzler's orange trail, and his bike shut down and decelerated, until he stopped completely and was counted out of the game. He punched the controls of the vehicle as it derezzed into its compact form. Frustrated, he raised his gaze hopefully at the other side of the arena. Now it was up to his partner to win the match.

Rinzler and the other Dj drove straight at each other. Rinzler wanted to hold the trajectory up to the last second, on a daring game, but the DJ didn't play along. He drew a very open curve while approaching him, possibly to gain some time for him to think. Rinzler's confidence rose to an even higher level. He had no chances playing alone against him.

He proved to have some tricks up his sleeve, however. He could maneuver his bike in ways Rinzler had seldom seen, jumping gracefully over his trail and over himself, driving him into dangerous spiral turns that resulted way too confusing for him. They both ended driving side by side, trying to outrun each other. They looked at each other, defiant. In another circumstance, Rinzler would have reached out and tried to punch the program off his bike. He didn't really enjoy losing, but this was a friendly competition.

The other program, however, didn't think of it twice and rammed Rinzler's bike with his, to which Rinzler responded throwing his fist at him. It only caused the DJ to swerve a little, and Rinzler's hand to hurt. Wearing helmets had some really good advantages, after all.

He started to doubt his own chances of winning that match. How did the program hold so long without tiring? Without losing control for even a second, and keeping his guard up at all times? He had rarely seen adversaries like them. He rarely considered the possibility of losing anyway.

The music programmer let go off the dirty playing and they both now accelerated on a desperate battle for victory. They were running at full speed, but none of them could make the advantage needed to make the turn. Rinzler was confident in his own bike's speed, but when the other program pushed in his direction, he had no other choice but turn with him to avoid being cut off. That's when the program decided to show his cards and made a break for it. He swerved and managed to cut Rinzler's path, but at the price of crashing his own bike against the other. As a result, both bikes lost control and rolled over, throwing their riders to the floor. They were thrown a long distance across the field, tumbling first and then sliding on the shiny floor.

From the other side of the field, the third program saw the crash, and ran towards Rinzler and his partner, worried.

Rinzler stood up first, right after stopping. He was more than used to being beaten and thrown off his bike. He had survived even being hit by a car and thrown off a cliff. He looked around and saw the other program still laying on the floor, and ran to aid him. He couldn't tell because of the mask, but he was moving, so he knew he was awake. He sat up and looked around, confused. Rinzler kneed next to him and saw no wounds or signs of derezzing. The program would be fine in a few seconds, he wouldn't even need a reboot. His metallic helmet didn't have a scratch. The impact had been quite violent for a non-combat oriented program, but apparently they were tougher than they looked.

Rinzler offered a hand at his opponent. He looked at it amused, and accepted it with a nod, getting up slowly. His disorientation, along with the movement and gesture, brought him physically close to Rinzler. And he noticed that. Both programs did. The Dj looked straight into Rinzler's helmeted face, seeing only his own reflection in the helmet, but knowing that Rinzler too couldn't see much in his own visor. So it was more of a symbolic gaze, because those were their faces after all. And he started to understand how much could be said with a touch, for through his hand Rinzler felt the warmth and the electricity of his circuits, quickening the electric flow through his body, sending an abstract message he couldn't understand- only feel.

Its side effect was simple. It hit Rinzler like a wave, traveled through his body like an uncomfortable heat, and settled between his legs like a flame for all to see.

However, the effect wasn't so obvious to programs around him. Rinzler felt it with blinding intensity, but his stoicism hid his response incredibly well for those around. The dj managed to feel it, but only because he was unusually sensitive, and also because they were standing close to each other. And even then, he only noticed the heat, the subtle chance in Rinzler's stand, his muscles tensing.

He didn't notice that Rinzler had gotten hard.

If he had, he would have jumped back in utter embarrassment. But he let his hand go, calmly, stepping back awkwardly in a way that resembled blushing. Thankfully his companion arrived, and his hurried concern for the Dj's state broke off the moment's awkwardness. The shorter one started to examine him, visibly worried. His partner did nothing but wave him to calm down, assuring through gestures that he was fine. He still spent a long, intense moment verifying that. Then he turned around to look at Rinzler.

Rinzler's senses were muffled. His thoughts felt silent, inefficient. It took him a moment to process the other programs' expectant stare. His fists were tightly closed at his sides, as if he were restrained by invisible cuffs, but he agreed with his body in that he didn't want to move. The suit felt tight in all the wrong places, the heat was inconvenient, and the other programs seemed unaware of it. They just wanted a rematch. Rinzler wanted relief.

But he hadn't lost his senses completely, he couldn't allow himself to do that. He knew he couldn't give into what his body was asking. He wasn't even fully sure of what it was, what he needed so desperately anyway.

The programs walked away and got their bikes ready once again. Not a sound escaped his helmet, but his body screamed. Rinzler's circuits flared as he groaned in silence. Because now the mp3 programs were sitting on their bikes, slender bodies leaning forward, looking impossibly flirty.

He realized then what he wanted. It was _them_.

So the newly started race took a different meaning for Rinzler, as he revved his bike and accelerated to impossible speed only to move closer to them and watch them, only moved by his urge and his uncomfortable hard on. Because getting on his bike had only made things worse. Much, much worse. So painfully he drove that he considered surrendering, stopping the game, because the bike felt extraordinarily frustrating between his legs and for a moment he thought he couldn't bear it.

If he had been fast before, now he was just defying the laws of the grid. He wasn't even aware of his surroundings anymore, his senses narrowed and only let him feel four things: the two programs, his body, and his lightcycle. There was nothing else.

The djs of course noticed the change. His driving was more aggressive, more unpredictable. He turned and revved and drove diagonally. He used the ground to his advantage and managed to jump, confusing his opponents in acrobatic maneuvers that would have left any spectator speechless. The kind of thing an audience would have loved to see him do in an official race.

There was little they could do against those movements. The mp3 programs tightened their guard and fought brilliantly, but it wasn't long before they both crossed Rinzler's light trail and lost the round.

Rinzler stopped in front of them, defiantly revving his bike. The lightchycle's sound sent a clear message: he wanted more. And the mp3 programs replied, because they definitely wanted a rematch too.

He had incited a third round because his body was running at top speed, uneasy, altered and overexcited. He needed the speed, he couldn't stop or he'd go mad. He needed to trail his hands over his suit, rub his digital flesh underneath, but he couldn't. Instead he gripped the handles of his bike tightly, in desperation . The fabric of his gloves crunched, an inaudible sound under the roar of his bike, that echoed on his ears like his quiet heavy breathing did. If they knew...

He saw the trails of their bikes, followed them without touching, drove towards them and beyond. He zigzagged maliciously, confusing them, tracing impossible paths on the gridded surface of the circuit. The mp3 programs retaliated with equal determination, not letting him yank them around, keeping as much of their ground as they could. They used the different levels to their advantage, to escape that fierce beast and rethink their strategy, and emerged ready to win.

But Rinzler was good. They lost again, so quickly that they stared at each other in disbelief. Of course, they were racing CLU's champion. That probably accounted for something. This time, they were the ones to demand a rematch.

And they started over again, one more time, like when the audience demanded an encore from them, only this time the music was speed. It felt as euphoric as when they created, composing and driving overwhelmed them both in pleasure. But the race had something that creating music didn't. It had Rinzler. And his presence was a sublime touch that brought an already enjoyable experience to unsuspected heights.

It was dazzling. His head was spinning, and the mp3 programs had become blurs of silver and white, moving through nothingness. His hands were closed so tightly they threatened to snap the handles of the machine, and now his thighs too closed over the bike with tense excitement. He couldn't continue. He couldn't think. He was driving on instinct at that point, and his movements were so chaotic and aggressive that they looked more appropriate for a drunken, or badly damaged program.

It ended in the only way it could have, with him accidentally ramming his bike against his opponents. This crash occurred at even a higher speed than the first, and it sent him flying away right towards the edge of the racing ground. He saw the orange sparks of his bike crashing and derezzing, and then he blacked out.

He felt much calmer when he came to his senses. It felt almost like a reboot, and suspected that it probably was. He noticed the faceless programs above him, watching him with worry, expressed through a hand on his shoulder and another one grabbing his own. He raised his head, but stayed on the ground, letting thoughts and reason come back to him slowly. He raised a thumb, letting the programs know he was ok. Confused, but fine.

At least the blow to the head had taken care of other problems. He still felt a strange void in his stomach, and a shudder when a third hand ran up his chest with care, but he didn't feel the urge he had before. He was alright. Even the confusion started to vanish and was able to sit up. The Djs looked at him, visibly more calm. The shorter one shrugged, the taller one shook with a mute laugh. What a ride, indeed.

They helped Rinzler get up slowly, and he was back to his former self quickly. He was the toughest security program on the grid, he had a name to live up to, so he didn't have time to abandon himself to weakness.

He looked around, searching for the small stick his bike must have ended as, but he didn't know where to begin. The shorter program caught his attention with a wave and, reluctantly, handed him his bike-stick. But he didn't let it go right away. His gesture said "no more racing, ok?" They weren't tired, but the crash had been too much. Rinzler nodded, and joined them on their walk out of the arena. Maybe they had started too strong.

. . .

They walked into the recreational court around the arena, a place with music and other entertainment, including screens transmitting the lightcycle races on the arena itself. There were many programs gathered around the screens, embezzled by a three-team match that was taking place at the moment. It looked thrilling, but the Djs and Rinzler didn't stay to watch.

He felt better, somehow, after the race and the crash. He couldn't understand why the dj's physical closeness wasn't having the same effect it had had before. He felt calm and rational again, though there was still an abstract feeling deeply embedded on his thoughts, that he couldn't shake down. And after the race, he didn't want to shake it down anymore. He just walked next them, looking around the place, wondering where he was being led.

Though programs in the court seemed cheery and content, there was still an unspoken discomfort in the air. No amount of entertainment could disguise the latent resentment against CLU's regime. It was subtle, easy to miss, but it was there, and it surfaced spectacularly when Rinzler walked through the court. Programs turned their heads to look at him with different expressions on their faces. Maybe not all of them knew who Rinzler was exactly, but his looks spoke "CLU's henchman" right away. And many programs there weren't too happy about it.

In fact, Rinzler wasn't just the only program outfitted with orange circuits there: he was also the only one wearing black garments. Being stared at wasn't a new thing for him, he got those reactions every time he entered a place like that. But usually he was backed up by his men, or even CLU himself and his cohort. This time he was accompanied by two programs with very different functions, and the stares were making _them_ uncomfortable.

Rinzler noticed that the Djs walked with their heads lower than usual, and looked up to return the stares, but never for long. He saw the shorter program fidget, and entwine his fingers nervously. But their walking remained steady. Maybe they just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. The thought angered Rinzler. They didn't deserve that, and he didn't really know what to do about it. Confronting the offending programs didn't seem like an appropriate solution.

In the end, it was the Djs themselves that decided to act on it, but not in the way Rinzler expected. The three of them kept walking, but the musicians stepped to walk closer to Rinzler. Their presence, their bodies, sheltered Rinzler's figure. They weren't hiding him, it was a symbolic sign of protection and support. After that, the Djs shared a knowing look. Then they shared said look with Rinzler, and he knew it was to avoid startling him when he felt an arm around his shoulders. The taller program nodded at Rinzler's positive response, and squeezed his shoulder a little. He felt it unnecessary. He wasn't vulnerable, he didn't need protection, but the gesture felt... right.

The shorter program rested his hand on Rinzler's back, right on his disc, just as protective as his companion. Considering the importance of a program's disc, Rinzler wasn't fully comfortable with the touch at first. But the gloved hand rested firm against him, and it was hard to keep feeling it as a threat. The unnecessary protection became something different after a while, as they walked through the court now with their heads up, ignoring everybody around them. It became strangely comforting. It became pleasant.

He had raised his own arm, and rested it on the taller program's waist, and hadn't even noticed it. After noticing it, noticing the body his arm circled, a rush invaded him like a shower of code and sent a shiver down his spine. He wanted to take the arm down, but he only managed to grip the fabric under his palm even tighter. And it felt right.

He didn't give it any more thought.

They arrived at a small area, with terraces and balconies that provided a sense of privacy. They were still looked at by programs around, even when they sat down in one of the benches in the area, but they easily ignored it. It was a nice place to rest after the lightcycle race. Some programs were even drinking, but most chatted quietly, or observed the plaza down the balcony. It was a modest view, but entertaining nonetheless.

The shorter program reclined on the bench, while his companion leaned on the railing and looked down at the lower level. Rinzler sat down, looking at both of them, wondering what they would want to do next. The shorter program returned the look, his thoughts impossible to guess. Only then Rinzler noticed how strange their communication was. He sat more comfortably on the bench, as if the program had requested him to relax, and he had obeyed. He didn't avert his eyes from the other program. He looked at the shining leds, the circuitry, the shiny metal on his head and his gloved hands. He looked at him as if something were off, but nothing was. Not really. It was just the situation he was in that was strange and unusual. And his odd feeling that everything was right.

The taller program waved to grab their attention, and the tension of the moment faded in a second. They turned to look at the standing program, and saw him pointing at a wall, right at the opposite side of the court. There was a small group of programs around it, looking nervous and agitated. It was certainly an odd sight, but he couldn't point out exactly why. Rinzler stood up, head tilted in confusion. The programs were looking at something on the wall. One of the court's signs, surely? Then why was everything so silent? Why was everybody so tense?

He decided to take a closer look. He saw glowing blue characters spelling a message on the wall, but it wasn't an officially programmed sign. It had been scribbled crudely, quickly, and when he read it, everything made sense.

He knew he would have to report to CLU before the cycle was over.

The rest of their "date" would have to wait.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A.N.:** First, I apologize for not updating this earlier. I'm really sorry. I'm very disappointed with myself, I wish I had written more during the summer. But for several reasons, I didn't. And now I regret it._

_It's like I'm afraid of getting closer to the end of the story. I feel like, no matter what I do, it will be disappointing. That it will suck. And I won't lie, it probably will. But hell, a handful of people have favorited this fic, and added it to their alerts. Maybe I'm not understanding this right, but I think that means they're interested in it. Right? And not updating is like... Is it worst, or just as bad as a crappy ending? I don't know._

_I'll try my best. I'm gonna try updating more regularly. I am also gonna force myself to watch 'Tron: Legacy' once a week, every week, for an indefinite period time. Otherwise I forget about the little things that make the setting rich. And of course, the incredibly amazingness of Rinzler._

_Anyway, my apologies again, and thanks for reading._

/

"This is ridiculous!"

Even if the DJ hadn't been eavesdropping, he would have heard the loud shout from Castor anyway. He was hiding near the door to one of his meeting rooms. Not the main one overlooking the club, though. This meeting was much less ceremonious, as Castor certainly didn't want to honor it with that level of attention.

CLU's minions had come visit, and judging by Castors' upset reaction, they hadn't brought good news. It was a small group of guards led by Jarvis, hence the curt welcome. They weren't offered drinks or even passage into the heart of the club. CLU's secretary spoke coldly, with a sinister grin on his face, showing how much he was enjoying Castor's displeasure.

The mp3 program peeked inside. Castor bluntly threw a datapad back at Jarvis. "I have nothing to do with this" he said, pointing at the thing. "And frankly, just his suspicion offends me! I thought we had some kind of trust going on, you know?"

Jarvis rolled his eyes, and sighed. "Once again, let me remind you that, technically, you are not on probation. CLU is merely soliciting your help with this matter, nothing more."

Castor smirked. "Why is he making such a fuss about it, anyway?" he said, walking to a display console nearby. He browsed through the multiple pictures stored in it, and zoomed in a random one. "It's just graffiti."

The mp3 program could then see what they had been discussing, though by then he was more than familiar with the graffiti that had appeared all over the city in a matter of days. In many streets of the city, in plain view and in eye-catching colors, strands of holographic text had been embedded on the walls. Like neon signs, these lines of code displayed messages against CLU, from the most offensive to the clever, or mere threats. CLU had deployed units throughout the city as if they were preparing for an invasion.

"It is a sign of disobedience, and as such, it must be eradicated" said Jarvis.

The mp3 program lost interest in the argument. Jarvis explained Castor how the messages had been written with expertise into the codes of those walls, and how their experts were having trouble cleaning them up. He advised him to report any suspicious activity, and then many more veiled threats followed. Castor was more than glad to remind the other program that he had been kidnapped a few cycles ago.

He had heard enough. He was only there to check if, among the visiting programs, was CLU's most personal guard. Many cycles had passed since they last had seen him, and they hadn't been able to contact him ever since. With the strict state of emergency, he probably had been occupied. Still, he couldn't help but tilt his head and lay against the wall with melancholy, wondering about him.

He then returned to his workplace, near his companion. It was a quiet cycle, with a modest crowd and slower music. Castor had been a bit on edge since his kidnapping. He seemed to have developed a taste for low lights and ambient music.

The taller program raised his gaze from the display, inquisitive. His partner replied merely shaking his head, and he answered too lowering his, disappointed. His companion manipulated a few commands on the console and then left it, to walk next to his friend. He had left the music on a seamless, pleasant loop. The programs weren't paying attention to it anyway. There was too much going on in the grid, and their personal situation seemed to mirror it in a way.

They idly focused on the line panels at the glass of their booth, glowing and projecting a spectrogram of the music, that fused with other visual elements to create images. The MP3 programs were very proud of that work. It showed reflections, abstract lines dancing on a black background. And interconnected to those playful strings, a vague figure, delineated only with a few orange dots and squares.

They both knew very well where the inspiration for that figure came from. They looked at it with a hint of worry. They also shared a long glance with each other, as if discussing what to do next and coming up empty, without any ideas.

They went back to their workstation, somewhat apathetic, barely touching their console. From their window they saw CLU's programs leave.

CLU's measures had been implemented overnight. His presence was now even more evident that before, and of course, that meant yellow, orange and red guards were everywhere now. Formerly unguarded recreational areas were now perpetually watched by his henchmen, sometimes quiet and static, other times with patrols that greatly disrupted the enjoyment of such places. Even the End Of Line counted with a small group of eight guards, located in all corners of the club. At least they didn't disturb the customers directly, but having them there was still an annoyance. As if having off duty guards wasn't unpleasant enough, though Castor somehow enjoyed their presence as customers. He could usually take a snippet or two of information from them. On duty, however, they did not offer that chance.

The mp3 programs had stopped their recreational disc and lightcycle duels, and their only entertainment was an occasional walk down the mall, or a visit to the circuitry galleries. Still, they did as much as they could to visit other areas of the grid, even if they didn't stay there for long. They took long, random routes on their way to and from the club, and made sure to ride through all possible paths with their lightcycles. It was hard to look for an specific silhouette among the high number of black guards, but they knew very well who they were looking for.

The black silhouette they scanned for through the streets was always helmeted, and had very few lines of circuit imprinted on his body. It was, at the same time, hard and easy to miss.

Of course, in their minds they weren't 'looking for him'. They just wouldn't mind bumping into him, see how he was doing. They were almost ready to give up their unofficial search, disappointed. At least he had their address, and they always returned to their residence near the docks to recharge properly.

Every time they went back to their place they expected to find him there, where he had waited the last time. It seemed like an awfully distant memory, so relaxed and distraught. Things now weren't as bad as they had been at the time of CLU's uprising, but still his current control didn't exactly bring peace to the grid.

Soon enough there would be revolts. Programs would start complaining about the excessive scrutiny from their leader, the surveillance, the punishments.

And the graffiti kept popping up anyway. Well crafted fonts or scribbles, it didn't matter. Messages kept appearing everywhere, sometimes right under the guard's noses. They sent messages like , "Flynn lives", "The Users will return" or "CLU SUX!". They managed to take them down, but couldn't hide them from the eyes of the citizens quick enough.

However, the usual procedure consisted on the black guards rounding up unlucky bystanders. The innocent programs that just happened to walk near the area the moment the graffiti was discovered. They would brutally assault and coerce them into revealing the identity of the perpetrators, sometimes even taking them away. Occasionally they did obtained answers, though they weren't of much use in the end. In reality CLU's protocol hadn't changed that much. Just arresting fugitive programs, user or ISO sympathizers, and the usual undesirables. The authors probably belonged to all of those groups. They were just too cleverly organized for CLU's brute force to work.

Still, brute force was CLU's specialty.

One of those terrible scenes was developing on a nearby plaza, as the MP3 programs walked home one night. Guards had rounded up a group of civilian programs, and made them lie face down in lines. The officers were still examining the graffiti, wondering how a program could have done it.

It covered one of the huge outer walls of the arena. It was many, many meters high, and probably visible from miles around, and read "FLYNN LIVES" in turquoise letters. Other luckier bystanders, that had approached to witness the guard's brutality, were also admiring the huge message. Among them, the mp3 programs. They took a second to raise their heads and see the whole thing. It was the most impressive one they had seen so far.

The scene happening on the plaza was much less awe inspiring. The guards, armed with their staffs, walked up and down the rows of programs, shouting and threatening them with the tips of their weapons. The programs lied there, dead still, but they were clearly terrified. In front of the row, another program walked up and down, silent but threatening all the same.

It was Rinzler. He was leading that raid. He was armed with just one of his discs, and his demeanor indicated he was losing his patience. One of his guards kicked a program in the stomach. When his commander didn't say anything, he repeated the aggression, and then started beating him with the non-deadly end of his stick. Rinzler just kept walking up and down, waiting for one of the programs to talk.

The scene was gruesome, and many of the bystanders left. The mp3 programs just stood there, horrified.

Of course, they had never given any thought to what Rinzler's tasks really entailed. And it was hitting them hard. It wasn't that they didn't know, they just... Had never seriously thought of it. They had known another Rinzler, a rescuer, a protector like the ones Users had written so many cycles ago. Like the noble warriors that were now gone. But in reality he was a henchman, a brute, his master's right hand. And that hand was always ready to punish.

The innocent program was on the brink of de-ressolution, but thankfully, Rinzler ordered his man to stop. He did so and pushed the wounded program back to the row. Rinzler walked towards him and placed himself threateningly close, his boots almost touching the program's face. It was clear that the program expected to be eliminated, but when they asked him again, he didn't give an answer. He just cried in panic, awaiting the worst.

And so did the crowd. In fact, such were Rinzler's intentions. But he had raised his helmeted head and seen the mp3 programs.

He stepped back and walked away, resuming his coming and going. He now seemed nervous, thoughtful. His men awaited his orders, and with a wave of his arm ordered them to step back from the prisoners. He looked at the other side of the plaza, from where a pair of glowing visors scrutinized him, and waited for his next movement.

He examined the round up programs again, one by one. All of them registered, with their discs intact, and they all looked properly coded. They just had been at the wrong place, at the worst time possible.

Rinzler waved his arm again. His men looked around, somewhat confused, but they had no chance of second guessing because Rinzler was quickly walking away from them. They just shrugged, and retreated, leaving the detained programs confused as well. Soon, the innocent bystanders looked up, fearful, and slowly got up on their feet.

Rinzler was walking straight towards them, holstered back his disc and quickened the pace. They didn't know very well how to react, but unlike the other bystanders, they didn't retreat when he approached. Everybody wanted to get out of Rinzler's way, but the mp3 programs stood in place.

An awkward silence settled between them. The mp3 programs looked around, not knowing what to do. Rinzler seemed equally insecure. He took a second to deprogram the security line they had set up around the scene. Without that physical barrier they felt closer, but they were still miles apart.

A team of rewriters had arrived and were hurriedly working on the giant graffiti, climbing the walls with rope and gliders, trying to get rid of the glowing message. Neither the djs nor Rinzler paid them much attention.

Rinzler raised an arm and extended his hand towards them. He seemed about to say something, like he was trying to find the right words to explain. And oddly enough, the mp3 programs awaited patiently. But Rinzler voiced no excuse, no explanation, no apology. He did feel regret, but not for what the musicians had seen. He wished he had seen the mp3 programs more often, but he had duties to attend to, and those had priority. And the scene they had witnessed was nothing out of the ordinary for him. CLU's orders were clear, and he would be displeased if he didn't act according to his directive. He had no choice. His work was CLU's work.

The djs looked at each other, and then slowly turned around. They looked at Rinzler, and started to walk away in small, insecure steps.

Rinzler jumped towards them and softly grabbed the arm of the taller program. He stood in place and looked at the shiny black surface of Rinzler's face, seeing on it his own reflection, but also the orange glowing lights that blinked almost imperceptibly. In fact the other circuits in his body flared a little, a blink almost impossible to notice if one didn't look closely. Did they denote nervousness, or insecurity?

He stepped forward with his head lowered, but this time it wasn't a predatory stance, but rather submissive and apologetic. The mp3 programs looked at each other, confused, not sure of how to react. Rinzler lowered his hand slowly, until he reached the other program's hand and squeezed it briefly.

They definitely didn't know how to react, as the other program's closeness had caught them completely off guard. The shorter program approached his partner and grabbed his shoulder, slowly pulling him away.

It wasn't the right time. They hadn't been ready to see Rinzler truly at work, and now felt it impossible to do all the things they had wanted to. The things they had wanted to ask Rinzler, to tell him, to do with him... Seemed inappropriate for that moment. It was an awkward time. Things would have to wait a little longer and, as difficult as it was, they walked away.

And Rinzler didn't know whether to follow them or not. Because he didn't know when he would see them again, but also didn't want to upset them. They didn't walk away angry, or with resentment, but things weren't truly at peace between them either.

It would have to wait. Rinlzer lowered his head, feeling defeated. He saw the letters of the graffiti reflected on the floor, backwards and upside down, but still glowing unaffected by the attempts at fixing it. He turned around and looked at the monumental message, not really caring about what it said.

He went back to work, wondering if he would ever see those mute programs again.

/

_I would really, really appreciate if you guys gave me some feedback. If you've read this far, why? What is it about the story that you're liking? Or hating? Why are you reading it? That's what I'm asking, and I'd really love to know._


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